SURVIVE! UNIVERSAL LEGION

Chapter 4

The atmosphere was suffocating. Even the unshakable veterans of the Universal Legion felt a chill crawl down their spines as the battle raged on. The war-torn vessel groaned under the weight of destruction, its reinforced walls buckling with each concussive blast. Fire and smoke billowed through shattered corridors, the dim emergency lights flickering like dying embers. Explosions roared across the battlefield, their echoes swallowed by the deafening movements of the Enders—a swarm of living nightmares.

They came like an unrelenting plague. Twisted, shifting figures of darkness, their forms writhing and unstable, as if reality itself refused to hold them. Conventional weapons tore through them, but the wounds closed just as quickly, tendrils of black mist knitting their flesh together. The Legion had faced them before, but never in such numbers. Hundreds were a challenge. Thousands? It was madness.

"This is insane!"

Buza's voice thundered over the chaos, his massive frame a fortress of coiled muscle and armored plating. His reptilian skin glistened with sweat and blood, his fists cracking like gunfire as he clenched them. His glowing white eyes swept the battlefield, pupils narrowing at the overwhelming tide of enemies.

"We've fought these things before, but never this many!" he snarled. His tail lashed the floor, denting the metal beneath his weight. "Five hundred at most, maybe—but this? How the hell are we supposed to survive this!?"

His rage wasn't just frustration—it was the desperate fury of a warrior forced to acknowledge the inevitable. They were losing.

"Calm down, Buza."

Lord Irys' voice cut through the tension like a blade. He stood unwavering, his white cloak whipping in the heat of battle. His golden eyes burned with calculation, not fear. Where others saw chaos, he saw patterns, weaknesses, solutions hidden in the madness.

He turned to Bettus, the towering beetle-like warrior. Bettus' deep red carapace gleamed under the flashing alarms, his mandibles clicking in thought. He was a veteran, his hardened shell scarred from countless wars, yet even he could not hide the unease in his many eyes.

"Bring out the Nexarions," Irys commanded. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of finality. "We're going full force."

Bettus hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding. He understood the gravity of the order.

"Understood."

Then, the battlefield shifted.

A low, resonating hum filled the air as deep within the warship, colossal reinforced doors began to slide open. The sound was almost lost in the chaos, but the veterans of the Legion recognized it instantly. A tremor ran through the ship's core, the unmistakable pulse of something awakening—something unnatural.

The Nexarions.

They stepped forward in perfect synchronization, emerging from the depths of the vessel like specters of war. Towering figures of gleaming silver and blue, their forms were sleek yet imposing, sculpted for destruction. Energy coursed through intricate patterns engraved in their metallic skin, their central cores pulsating with an eerie, glowing blue light—a power unlike any other.

They were not alive. They did not feel fear, nor pain, nor hesitation.

They were weapons.

Designed not to fight with the Legion, but to fight for them.

Each step they took sent a heavy vibration through the floor, their presence shifting the very atmosphere of the battlefield. Even the relentless Enders hesitated for the first time. A low, guttural growl rippled through the swarm, their instincts whispering the warning their fragmented minds could not comprehend.

Irys allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction.

The Nexarions were the Legion's last line of defense. If they were being deployed, it meant only one thing—

This battle had reached the brink of catastrophe.

But as long as the Warlord of the Enders did not appear…

Their chances of survival had just skyrocketed.

The Universal Legion fought with all their might, but the overwhelming numbers of the Enders pushed them to their limits. Under normal circumstances, it would take ten skilled legionnaires to bring down a single Ender without suffering grave injuries—a testament to the nightmare these creatures embodied. But now, in this suffocating battlefield, each squad was forced into a desperate three-to-one struggle against these eldritch horrors.

The ship groaned from the intensity of the conflict. Sparks flew as plasma bolts tore through the air, energy blades clashed against razor-sharp limbs, and the guttural cries of the wounded mixed with the unearthly shrieks of the Enders.

One of the dark creatures—a towering nightmare wielding a jagged, obsidian scythe—loomed over an injured legionnaire, its weapon poised for the killing blow. The soldier, his armor cracked and his breathing ragged, braced himself for the inevitable—

BOOM!

A deafening explosion erupted from the side, engulfing the Ender in a blinding surge of force. The monstrous being was hurled several meters backward, its body slamming into a steel wall with a force that left the metal groaning in protest. A deep dent was left in its wake.

The Ender twitched, its shadowy flesh writhing, struggling to regenerate. But something was wrong. The usual instant healing wasn't working—the damage refused to be undone quickly.

Its hollow, piercing eyes locked onto the source of the attack.

A figure stood before it, wreathed in silver and blue spirals.

A Nexarion.

The wounded legionnaire gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "A Nexarion…? Here?"

Nexarions were the Legion's ultimate war machines, only deployed when a situation was deemed so catastrophic that even the Legion could not handle it alone.

The injured soldier's stomach twisted. Does this mean we're in deeper trouble than we thought?

The Ender screeched in fury, its twisted limbs snapping back into place as it launched itself forward. This time, it attacked with everything it had.

The Nexarion, however, remained still—unfazed.

Without warning, it placed its hand to its side, the S-shaped emblem on its chest pulsating with blue energy.

In the span of a heartbeat, the Nexarion moved.

A single, blinding strike—faster than anything the human eye could follow—ripped through the Ender.

The monstrous being didn't even have time to react. Its dark, amorphous body froze for a split second before disintegrating entirely. Not a single trace of it remained.

The wounded legionnaire, still sitting on the bloodstained floor, swallowed hard, his throat dry. He had heard the rumors—that the Nexarions were second only to the commanders in power.

Now, he knew those rumors were true.

Yet, despite their overwhelming strength, the Nexarions were not limitless. There were only seven hundred of them at most, while the Enders numbered in the thousands.

Still, with the combined might of the Universal Legion and the Nexarions, the battle began to shift.

The tide, once seemingly unstoppable, was held at bay.

The legionnaires, emboldened by the presence of their war machines, fought harder than ever. They pushed forward, hacking and blasting through the monstrous horde with renewed ferocity.

But just as confidence surged through their ranks—

Doom struck.

A shockwave of unimaginable power ripped through the battlefield.

Two Nexarions—each powerful enough to single-handedly decimate dozens of Enders—were obliterated in an instant.

Eight legionnaires were annihilated alongside them, their bodies reduced to nothingness before they could even comprehend what had happened.

The battlefield fell silent for a moment.

Then, the source of the devastation stepped forward.

A towering Ender, unlike the rest.

It looked similar to its brethren—its form still a swirling abyss of darkness—but there was a crucial, terrifying difference.

It had three eyes.

A low, inhuman muffle rumbled from its throat. The sheer pressure radiating from its body caused the metal walls to groan and warp around it.

This was no ordinary Ender.

"It's a Commander!"

The cry of a legionnaire barely masked the trembling in his voice. Their first instinct was to rush forward, hoping that, against a single three-eyed Ender, they might stand a chance.

But then—they froze.

Four more figures emerged from the darkness, stepping into the battlefield like harbingers of doom.

"Five… there are five of them," someone whispered, their voice barely audible over the chaotic sounds of battle.

A suffocating dread settled over the soldiers.

"We're doomed."

Hope shattered like brittle glass. The power of a Commander-ranked Ender was immeasurable—their strength alone had decimated entire planets. Facing even one was a nightmare. Five?

It was hopeless.

One of the Nexarions, his silver form pulsing with blue energy moved . He had no time for despair. He charged forward, forming a blazing energy sword in his hands, and struck at the nearest Ender Commander.

For a moment, everything was silent.

Then—

Half of his body vanished.

Not torn apart. Not burned. Erased.

Gone.

The Nexarion's remaining half collapsed to the floor, its eye flickering out. There was no scream—there wasn't even time to register its death.

A legionnaire fell to his knees, his entire body shaking uncontrollably.

"This power… this is too much for us to handle!" he cried, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

One of the Ender Commanders stepped forward.

Step.

A deliberate, heavy footfall.

Step.

The dim red glow of its scythe pulsated ominously, waves of pure destruction radiating from its blade.

It lifted the weapon high, ready to bring it down upon the paralyzed soldier—

FWOOOSH!

A massive torrent of fire erupted from the side, slamming into the Ender with devastating force. The impact sent the monstrous being hurtling several meters backward, smashing through walls of reinforced metal.

Relief washed over the legionnaires as they recognized the fiery presence.

"Commander Furnal!"

A figure emerged, wreathed in flames so intense that the very walls melted around him. His body, a deep crimson, radiated heat capable of turning entire fleets into cinders. His obsidian eyes, emotionless and cold, swept over the battlefield before he spoke:

"Leave this place. Now. If you want to live."

There was no hesitation.

The legionnaires bolted, scrambling for any operational spacecraft, desperate to escape the impending cataclysm.

Furnal, however, stood firm. His piercing gaze locked onto the five Ender Commanders, his presence alone an inferno of power.

"Five against one?" he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "That doesn't seem fair."

He snapped his fingers.

In an instant, the battlefield changed.

A wave of absolute cold spread across the room, engulfing the surroundings in a sheet of ice so thick it froze the molten walls in place.

A towering figure stepped forward, her bald blue head reflecting the icy mist swirling around her.

Commander Friz.

One of the Enders, impatient and reckless, lunged at Furnal.

Before it could strike—

CRACK!

A sickening smash echoed as its body was obliterated into black smoke.

A deep, booming voice rumbled across the battlefield.

"I still wonder… what exactly are you Enders?"

A massive silhouette emerged. His muscular black frame and white horns, built like an unbreakable fortress, pulsed with power.

Buza.

The warrior rumor to be with the strongest body in existence.

Right behind him, a half-serpent, half-human being slithered onto the battlefield, her emerald scales gleaming.

Kalynda.

Her alien form had fully awakened, her serpentine eyes gleaming with predatory focus.

And finally—calm, silent footsteps.

A final figure arrived, his presence a stark contrast to the battle's chaos.

Raziel.

The battlefield had shifted.

Bettus and Irys, the last two, worked tirelessly to evacuate survivors while their comrades stood against the Ender threat.

Raziel unsheathed his glowing silver blade, its aura so overwhelming that it threatened to overshadow even Gamo's legendary sword, the relic of the Giamistian King.

"You beings don't deserve to exist."

His eyes burned with intellect—cold, sharp, and calculating.

"Let me erase you all."

The three-eyed Ender Commanders roared, and in a split second, the battlefield exploded once more.

Friz, with her terrifying control over ice, froze entire sections of the battlefield, slowing the Enders just enough for his comrades to land decisive blows.

But even that wasn't enough.

Furnal's raging inferno clashed violently against the Ender's abyssal darkness, the very air igniting under the sheer intensity of the battle. Every strike of his flames melted through space itself, warping the gravity around them.

And yet, despite their overwhelming power—

The Enders kept healing.

Their stamina was endless.

Their bodies regenerated instantly.

And the tide began to turn.

Kalynda screamed as she was sent flying backward, her massive tail shattered from a devastating strike. Green blood pooled beneath her, her breathing ragged.

The Ender that had wounded her rushed forward, eager to end her life.

She shut her eyes.

And then—

BOOM!

A massive blue energy blast tore through the air.

The Ender twisted mid-swing, dodging at the last second—just barely avoiding what would have been a lethal hit.

The attacker landed, revealing itself.

Twenty figures stood behind it.

They were larger, more powerful than the standard Nexarion units.

Their silver armor gleamed with pulsating red energy.

They were the Advanced Nexarion.

"Apologies for the delay."

Irys stepped forward, his cold gaze scanning the battlefield. His Commanders were gravely wounded—all except Reize, who stood firm despite the deep gash on his back.

Yet, the five Ender Commanders still stood.

Not only standing—but fully healed.

The realization was crushing.

And yet—hope ignited once more.

With their leader and the Advanced Nexarions now on the battlefield, the Universal Legion rallied.

They charged forward, pushing back with newfound ferocity.

The battle shifted.

And for the first time, the Enders found themselves retreating.

With one final, concerted effort—

A three-eyed Ender Commander fell.

The battlefield froze.

An Ender Commander… had been slain.

An impossible feat.

And yet, they had done it.

The war was far from over.

But for the first time—

Victory no longer seemed unattainable.

Meanwhile —

Aboard one of the massive Ender warships, two figures stood side by side, observing the battlefield below.

"Why don't you just end this, Corl?" one of them asked.

The figure addressed as Corl, his entire body a deep crimson, let out a low chuckle. A large black "O" marked his face like an ominous brand. His gaze remained fixed on the ongoing battle, watching as the three-eyed Ender struggled against the relentless assault.

"No," Corl finally said, a sinister smirk playing on his lips. "That would be too boring. I want to see the true power of this three-eyed X-Cimen."

The man beside him sighed, his expression one of cold detachment. He cast a glance at the battlefield, where the last two remaining Enders were barely holding their ground. "Only irrelevant life must be ended. We Enders are needed for a better world."

With those words, he stepped forward, his body lifting off the deck effortlessly. As he floated down from the ship, his true form was revealed. Four glowing red eyes adorned the front of his head, extending toward the back of his neck like a crown of dominance. Black thorns protruded from his skin, emanating an eerie dark mist. His massive sword, pulsating with deadly intensity, hummed with an ominous power.

"It's time I join the fight," he declared.

---

Meanwhile, on the battlefield, the tide had shifted. The Nexarion warriors and their Commanders had turned the battle in their favor. Two more Enders had fallen, their bodies dissolving into black smoke. Only two remained. Yet, despite their losses, the Enders showed no fear. Instead, they abruptly disengaged, flying back into space.

Buza, his body still covered in wounds and battle scars, prepared to chase after them. However, before he could act, Irys grabbed his arm, holding him back with an iron grip.

"Why are you stopping me?" Buza growled, turning toward him.

But the moment he saw Irys' face, his frustration turned to concern. Irys' brow was furrowed deeper than Buza had ever seen before. There was no trace of his usual confidence—only a profound dread.

Something was wrong.

Then, a shadow descended from above.

Like a god of death, the figure slowly descended onto the battlefield. The air around him became thick with a suffocating presence, as if the very universe recoiled at his arrival.

The Commanders, some of the strongest beings in the universe, froze in place. Their bodies refused to move, their instincts screaming of an overwhelming danger.

Raziel, despite his intelligence and composure, gasped in pure shock. His voice trembled as he forced himself to speak.

"Don't tell me that he is—"

"Yes," Irys interrupted, his voice heavy with dread. "He is."

The battlefield fell silent as the realization set in.

The warlord of the Ender had arrived.

To be continued